


lying in a field full of dandelions

by atheoryon



Series: Mandatory Fun [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-07 08:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18617200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atheoryon/pseuds/atheoryon
Summary: There's a ball of warmth in Clint's chest that's entirely Bucky's.He doesn't exactly figure out how to deal with it.





	lying in a field full of dandelions

**Author's Note:**

> It's a day late, but god bless backdating, right?
> 
> For MFD's prompt 'laundry day' 
> 
> This got away from me entirely, and I mostly wrote it Friday evening after seeing endgame, so any mistakes are blamed on that.
> 
> Title from Dandelion by Tevin Campbell

One of these days, Clint promised himself, he was going to handle life as a proper adult, instead of juggling three not-actually-part-time jobs and also trying to get a full night’s sleep without any nightmares or emergencies every now and then.

 

Tonight was not one of those nights. Obviously. Because it never was. No, tonight, he had to come home his apartment building after three weeks in the middle of _fucking_ nowhere, Pakistan, to find the laundromat broken. Not just, you know, one of the laundry machines in the basement of the building, but apparently the fuses had blown five minutes before he got there, so instead of trying to sleep off his jet lag, various injuries, and general tiredness, he’s fixing, or, well, attempting to fix his fucking laundry machines. 

 

Which, according to the shitty tutorial google gave him, he’s just done. It’s 4am, he’s dead on his feet, but at least he fixed the fucking laundry. At least. He hoped he did. Too tired to care, and also, it’s 4am, no one who might come in is allowed to judge him, he stripped off down to his boxer briefs, and dumped his clothes into the nearest machine, quickly setting it up, sending a quick prayer up to Thor for allowing the electronics of it all to work- and aw, lightning, no, promptly yanked his hand back, shaking it to get rid of the annoying sensation of getting electrocuted. Mildly, yes, but still. Lightning was only fun when Thor made those tiny lightning bolts hang in the air, and they would make up constellations lying on the kitchen floor.

 

Clint was so tempted to just say fuck it, and go to sleep, but he knew Simone had to do her laundry in between her two jobs and caring for her son, so he had to fix it, dammit. He sighed, patted the laundry machine, (after turning off the fuses again, he did know some basic safety stuff) and resolved to text Scott. He tended to keep weird hours with his work and had sent a snapchat recently enough that he didn’t feel worried about waking the poor man up. 

 

-o-

 

Clint was rudely awoken by someone shaking at his shoulder. He opened his eyes, blinking a few times at the rude interruption, before focusing on, hold on,  _ Barnes _ ? “What’re you doing here?” He grunted, still not entirely awake. At that, Bucky raised his eyebrows. Which was weird, he thought it was a perfectly valid question.

 

“You texted me. Sayin’ you needed my help because of Sara- no Simone and something to do with laundry? Look, I didn’t get it either, but ya didn’t reply, so, here I am.” Clint scrambled towards his phone, lying on the floor next to his pants, thankful for his last brain cell that decided to at least keep on his underwear when he tested the fucking laundry machine. He quickly unlocked it, and saw that he had indeed texted Bucky instead of Scott. How he’d mixed up those two, he’d never know. He decided to blame it on the jet lag, he’d done weirder things. 

 

“Sorry ‘bout that, meant to text Lang, must have-”, he let out a jaw-cracking yawn, suddenly feeling how bone-deep exhausted he was. “Anyway. Sorry for waking you up. You can crash here if you want to?” Bucky looked startled at the suggestion, but nodded. Clint yawned again, nodded to himself, and started picking up his clothes as he texted Scott, double checking to make sure this time. 

 

Halfway dressed, with one of his socks in hand and his shirt buttoned incorrectly, he went up the stairs, turning around once at the top of the stairs to see if Bucky had followed him. If he’d been less tired, he might have made a crack about Bucky coming up with him. If he’d been fully awake and caffeinated, he’d have made a joke about Orpheus leaving the underworld. Now though, he vaguely registered Bucky was indeed coming up with him, pointed him in the general direction of his spare room, and collapsed face first onto the bed as soon as he came within reach. 

 

-o-

 

When Clint woke up a blissful fourteen hours later, it was to the glorious smell of coffee, and the soft sounds of Frank Sinatra crooning. He dragged himself out of bed, groaning in satisfaction at the popping sounds as he stretched. Quickly throwing on a Captain America hoodie, he headed towards the smell of fresh coffee. 

 

He faltered a bit as he saw Bucky sitting on his countertop, mug of coffee in hand, his hair in a ponytail, mouthing along to the music playing. He always knew Barnes was hot, that was just an objective fact of the universe, and he liked to think he wasn’t the only one who suddenly took a renewed interest in history, those three high school history lessons he attended about the Howling Commandos, but this? This was something else entirely. Yeah, Bucky had been a ladies’ man before the war, but he wasn’t that man anymore. Right now, he was drenched in sunlight, looking ethereal and so close and soft at the same time that Clint wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself.

 

His need for coffee quickly remedied that, and he sincerely hoped he hadn’t been staring for too long. He probably overcompensated a bit with his quick strides towards the coffee pot, but hey. 

 

“Scott came by this morning, by the way. Fixed everything up real nice, even helped the lady, Simone, with carryin’ her laundry.” Clint nodded at the new information, glad it was fixed, but not really awake enough to do much more than that. He looked up at Bucky, and smiled when he saw Bucky was still mouthing along to the music. He looked so at peace like this, not a care in the world, content and absolutely gorgeous with the sunlight streaking his face and  _ fuck _ Clint was in too deep.

 

-o-

 

After that, much to Clint’s dismay and absolute joy, Bucky made it a habit to come by his place at least a few times a week. They started actually bonding, talking about books and movies and ‘the young kids these days’, which made Bucky laugh as Clint insisted that he was actually older than Bucky, nevermind what his birth certificate said. 

 

The ball of warmth in his chest grew every time Bucky laughed, or caught his eyes in the middle of boring debriefs, or when they worked well together on a particularly shitty mission. It glowed brightest, like Clint’s personal arc reactor, when it was just him and Bucky though, in the peace of Clint’s apartment, in the soft glow of the sun through the big windows. No matter what might happen on the next mission, or when Bucky inevitably finds someone else, those moments would always be theirs.

 

Because yeah, Bucky would find someone else eventually, and Clint’s accepted that. It took a few beers and a shot of vodka before he admitted as much out loud to Natasha, but Clint has accepted that. He felt guilty about it, sometimes, when he let himself fantasize about what their relationship would be like. When he spent just too long imagining waking up next to Bucky, or taking him out to the shitty 24/7 milkshake place they both love, or kissing him post-mission and full of adrenaline. 

 

Most of the time, he’s fine with the little star shining in his chest for Bucky. He’s one of the best people Clint’s ever met, and one of his best friends as well. So yeah, it would hurt like hell when Bucky found someone else, but Clint’s always been a bit of a masochist who fell too quick and loved too deep. 

 

He wouldn’t trade it for the world, however. Those shared moments in the quiet of the middle of the night, happy laughing about nothing when Clint had had one drink too many and Bucky acting along, and also the shitty moments when a mission almost went wrong, or an especially rough night. 

 

Still. No matter how much he valued Bucky as a friend, it still ate away at him, the star that shone so bright it had to hurt, a delicious pain that Clint couldn’t move on from even if he wanted to. That particular night, Clint found himself in the living room around midnight, not ready to face a probably shitty few hours of sleep. He’d been rereading the same page of his worn copy of  _ The Book Thief _ , but the words wouldn’t stick. 

 

He was torn out of his misery by someone knocking on his door. Probably one of the tenants with a problem. Sighing, he got up and opened the door to see… Bucky standing there? With what looked like a dozen or so dandelions in his metal hand? He’s using his other hand to rearrange them a bit, his movements careful, the way one might treat a scared kitten or baby. A bit shell-shocked, Clint just stared at him for a few seconds. Just as he’s about to say something, Bucky’s eyes suddenly snapped up, meeting his, and blurted out:

 

“Barton. Clint. I wanted to get ya flowers from the florist but ya know, it’s past midnight so they’re all closed, so I got you some fuckin’ dandelions, not that it’s exactly the same thing but yeah. As much as they’re a pain in the ass, turns out they’ve got meaning too. Take them. I trust you’ve figured out google better than I have.” 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](atheoryon.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> also, google the meaning of dandelions <3


End file.
